Zealous is He!
by Fuckshit Avenue
Summary: Steven Universe asks Garnet for a somewhat embarrassing piece of advice.
1. Death

Hitler awoke to the cold dripping of water pattering against a frigid stone floor. His eyes shot open, fully awake. The German's eyes were met with a seamless deluge of darkness, a thin string of beady water trailing into the floor being the only visible object. He blinked in confusion. Had Stalingrad officials finally captured him and are preparing excruciating tortures? Was Nicholas II planning an execution? Hitler assumed he'd never know. His wrists were overlaying and bonded with a thick shield of unbreakable steel twine and his eyes bled grit mixed with salty tears. His head began wildly rotating. The commander's cranium did propel from his neck, parting and morphing flawlessly into a jet-fueled headrover. It flew freely amongst the ebony nothingness, scanning and analyzing the room for any kind of hint towards his location. In retaliation to imprisonment, he transformed into a poorly-rendered 3D model whose polygonal glory rang throughout the universe with charming glee. He spewed an infinite string of spiral-like yellow fluid that was administered into the shape of a stout, afro-sporting child. The substance hardened, and pastel hues began speckling its claylike surface, spelling out a soft countenance that radiated glee.

"What do you summon me for, my dear Fuhrer?"

"Steven, I wish for my freedom from this wretched place."

"This case is a cold one. I'm a fray I can do no suck thing."

Steven Spielberg frowned slightly at the reaction of Hitler's drooping expression and sodden eyes.

"But, Steven Strait—someone with your power is _limitless_ for his breadsticks!"

Steven Yeun frowned. "You know I am not of infinity, Hotler."

"Steven Ogg, you have to!"

A sudden flood of emails caressed his Nazi body. The electronic liquid fused with his pale, nationalistic flesh and hardened into a roughly-shaped shell that stretched around his body. His hair was folded in a stiff flat underneath the notifying carapace. Two punctures symmetrical to each other appeared where his eyes were, allowing him to see the future of the world, peering through the sealed curtain into a door whose possibilities were endless. He was sealed eternally in his cursed mummy-like tomb, destined to see everything and do nothing, the song _Accidental Racists_ playing for all eternity in the dismal abyss of his mind. God had abandoned him, and abandonment was God for him.


	2. Despair

"FOR WHAT PURPOSE" screamed the German commander, still entombed in the crusty email exterior. "WHY MUST THIS HAPPEN TO ME?"

Po the fat panda rushed right-the-fuck in, and then hung his head. In a noose. One thousand burning buildings later—and a _lot_ of raping/pillaging—Stalin finished the enormous sculpture perched on his desk. It was made of clay, rough and callused. It depicted a man covered in a large cloak carrying a broomstick that was made out of smaller versions of the sculpture. Stalin would later resolve to piece together a new form of Russian Government. The Kay Gee Bee.

Donald Trump pointed his finger into the sky, and a massive golden column of light issued from the fingertip. It punctured through a large clutter of clouds and bursted through the atmosphere. The enormous spear rushed across the mind-boggling banner of space, and struck the surface of Mars. It kicked up a large cloud of dust as it rammed through the planet, and was then skewered upon the cosmic line of light. It connected with the next planet, Jupiter, then so on, until six planets were connected on the prodigious pipe of energy. Donald, using his super-duper powers, swung the large javelined cluster of land spheres. The cosmic face of Mitt Romney blended in with the cosmos, but the lights from the shish-kebab of celestial orbs illuminated his money-craving mug. The cosmic object crossed the space between the Solar System and Mitt Romney, and smacked the politician in his face. The force was so incredible that it elicited an enormous nebula of flesh and blood to rip from his face. Mitt's look of complacence turned to fear as his astral hiding was revealed. All would know his position now, and he wouldn't be able to escape. Just like me.


	3. Demise

Robbie Rotten sprang to life, his body covered in a thick layer of viscous jelly. His laser flesh was able to do away with the thick, slimy fluid in an instant. He stood up and corrected his lopsided coat and swiveled his nose.

"Now, what predicament have I been sucked into this time? I swear, this is the work of Sportaflop, isn't it!"

His two hands twisted and twirled and became smooth, hardened metallic nubs. The ends developed a muzzle and two long chains of ammunition dangled from his forearms.

"I'll teach that wretched athlete! I'll teach him _good!_ " he yelled, laughing in the voice of a maniac as he let loose a heavy cacophonic barrage of bullets. They shot across the cavern he was entombed within and chunks of rock and mineral spalled off from the assaulted walls. The bullets were constructed of super-hot metal and instantly liquefied anything it contacted. The watery vitamins slithered across the floor and Robbie absorbed them into his flesh. His strength amplified and his eyes shone with a demonic red glow.

"PREPARE YOURSELF, SPORTACUS!" he said.

"FOR I AM PREPARING _MYSELF!_ "

Spongebob flopped and repeatedly cartwheeled across the sandy acres. His body was spineless and he was completely quadriplegic. He floundered wherever he went, and he was always out of breath when he arrived at his destination. He shifted upwards, looking at the massive hollow statue that is Squidward's house.

"Squidward," he gurgled. "wanna come play-ayy-ayy?"

The cephalopod's response was a heavy flurry of bullets out of his machine gun sniper rifle. Spongebob collapsed, decorating the grainy terrain beneath him with a thick coat of blood that clumped the sand together in a dry heap. The blood swirled and shifted like the surface of a carbonated beverage before contorting into the shape of a man with a roundish face, and a full comb-over. He had a small square mustache as well. Adolf Hitler.

"Spongebob!" he said.

"What?"

"Get that dreaded Steven Universe in an instant! He's abandoned me!"

"Whoa!" he mumbled. "Okay, sure."

Spongebob compacted into a tight yellow core until he vanished from existence.


	4. Destruction

"OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK" Joseph Stalin, Premier of the Soviet Onion said. He was peeling through the void of space, reaching superatomic levels of speed. Not even his ultragulags could save him while he was traveling at such a blistering velocity.

And just like that, he crashed directly into a mountain. A massive puff of fire and chunks of rock combined with entangled greenery exploded from its craggy side, the resulting explosion as a result of Stalin's energy sent the debris into an entirely separate dimension.

"Cyka FUCKING blyat, what in the mighty asshole of Marx am I doing here?"

Sensing danger, he swiftly exited the server and rebooted his computer, and he respawned in a textureless environment composed of a continuously repeating black-and-pink grid.

"Ah fuck, not this either."

Another disconnection and another respawn landed him in an underwater territory, standing in front of three houses: a massive, domelike rock, a statue reminiscent of the Easter Island faces, and a large, windowed pineapple. Approaching the Slavic dictator was a floppy, gelatinous spongey being, who rolled across the ground like a soft-tissue wheel.

"Hi there, mister! Do you happen to know where a certain Steven Universe lives?"

Joseph Stalin shot him a concerned look. "What exactly is your business with him?"

"I was ordered by Adolf Hitler to see him."

A bolt of panic shot through Stalin's chest. Why Steven? The German dictator wasn't supposed to know anything about him. Bad news.

"…I'm afraid I'll have to stop you." He said.

Spongebob's unsupported face twisted into a blob of yellow skin that looked angry.

"What? It's just regular business."

"Leave business to the Party, kid. Go back to your house or I'll send the KGB after you."

"The…the 'cagey bee'? What're you talking about?"

"I said LEAVE!"

" _No!_ "

Spongebob sprung forth in a fountain of yellow jelly, slamming into Stalin's face. The stout dictator fell to the ground, dazed from the ambush. A sharp shard of metal peaked through Spongebob's gummy surface, shooting out from the golden slime and heading for Stalin's chest. He jerked over, shard embedding into the sandy ground.

"THAT'S _IT_! FEEL THE WRATH OF THE MOTHERLANDS!" he screamed, leaping to his feet and charging with a red aura surrounding him. As he pounded into the sponge, the blaring voices and trumpets of the Soviet anthem rang out. Stalin pummeled Spongebob, driving his fist repeatedly into him in a great barrage of communist punches.

He struck the mushy blob until it dissolved into a fizzling, mustard-colored liquid. The stars had shifted—now he was Spongeblob, of the Darkmeal. Stalin gripped the shaft of a timeline and impaled it directly within the flaxen pool, using the power of spacetime to transfix Spongeblob into the dimension and disallow him from reforming his bodily compositions.

Genrikh Yagoda, first minister of the NKVD, was Jewish but was responsible for the deaths of 10,000,000 people within the Soviet Union.


	5. Disillusion

_Adolf Hitler dude. Like who, WHO_ _EVEN_ _liked Hitler?! He was a giant a_ _rse_ _hole, just a massive_ _jerk_ _, I mean,_ _JUST WHY_ _?_

Adolf Hitler restrained tears as his somber eyes scanned along the hurtful words composing the forum post. He receded back into his chair, covering his mouth and sobbing in silence. It was all misinterpreted, down to the last centimeter. He was an innocent man, who only loved the German race and wanted what was best for them.

"Dammit /leftypol/, you guys used to like me…" he muttered, quickly switching between tabs to open regular, right-wing /pol/. No way could such a large body of disillusioned liberal shills and communist whistleblowers band together in a profoundly sincere and effective manner.

 _POW!_ —a gnarled, callused fist struck through the monitor from within it, as if an entire hand was concealed behind the glass of the computer. The knuckles collided with Hitler's face, flinging him into a wall in the back of the room, crashing into the sheetrock and sending chalky debris flying in multiple directions.

Hitler slowly regained his thoughts, mind still dazed and stunned from the attack. He slowly opened his eyes to see a pair of arms pulling his computer apart. Instead of breaking and shattering, the devices borders simply stretched, as if made of a rubbery material, as the two arms finally revealed the top of a head along with a broad set of bulky shoulders.

Out of the darkness from the portal piercing the computer came the Georgian face of Joseph Stalin, Premier and General Secretary of the Soviet Onion.

Hitler gasped. "STALIN! YOU SOVIET SCUM! HOW'D YOU GET HERE?"

Stalin smiled, his bushy socialist mustache seeming to glow with power. "Better question is, how are you alive?" he snarled.

Adolf Hitler slowly rose to his Prussian boots. "As long as the white race exists, I exist! You cannot erase the power of the German peoples!" he proclaimed, his fist shaking in a fervent gesture.

"Not under my rule will it!" the Stalinist Stalin said, thrusting forth from the computer and landing on his feet. Hitler darted forward and leapt skywards, pulling his fist back in a momentum-charged punch. Stalin crossed his forearms in an X-shaped guard over his chest, and Hitler's fist collided with his block. The resulting force sent a shockwave of energy to sweep through the small suburban house, immediately wrecking the entirety of the structure. The neighborhood looked now as if it had been struck by a particularly explosive missile.

Stalin skidded back, leaving long trenchlike marks in the newly created soil beneath him. Hitler glided lightly through the air, backing away from the stout Soviet. He landed quietly.

"Prepare to get eternally banished to the realm of forgotten dictators, Joseph!" yelled Hitler. The shadow of a large, translucent, iron cross slowly materialized behind him, a swastika imprinted in the midsection of the symbol.

"Not so fast, fascist scum. I may reside in the past, but the workers will remain the future!"

The translucent image of a large silhouette symbolizing a hammer and sickle crossed over each other grew larger behind Stalin, until it was at equal size of the Iron Cross-Swastika. The blaring tunes of Internationale and Horst Wessel-Lied clashed violently in a cacophony of nationalism, and the two all-powerful dictators collided with incredible force and speed.


End file.
